Sorrowful Rain
by MK26
Summary: "Why? Why does everyone leave me? I'm already trying my best, so why do you all leave me anyways...?" One-shot


**Just an attempt in writing no OCs. It's quite nice to write like this. Review please! I can't reply but thanks in advance if there are reviews owo...**

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Arthur Kirkland, also known as England, was isolating himself in his bedroom again. It was raining again, and his feelings from the past was brought out again. He quietly stared at the rain droplets that slid down the clear window as he slowly spin the glass of alcohol he had in his hand.

How long was it that he was no longer the top of the world? He didn't need anyone, didn't feel any attachment to anyone. He was the most powerful nation amongst all others. Such came the fall of the great British Empire. He missed the days where he would be able to put away his mask of greatness and welcome the running child. A sincere, real smile that made him forget all this tiredness.

The same smile which had appeared again on the battlefield, this time no longer a happy smile. It was a bitter smile, one that England himself was all too familiar with. He wondered when had he forgotten about his strength, as he was only capable of breaking apart when he had the chance to bring him back to his side once again. He knew the boy, no, young man already, wouldn't be happy but he felt so selfish at that time.

Arthur downed another cup of his drink, unhurriedly savouring the bitter taste that filled his mouth. It was as bitter as his feelings right now. He was alive for god knows how long, every time, every single time he had ended up alone. All of his colonies have left him at some point and he kept trying to make sure he wouldn't get so attached to themselves.

Yet he had failed when it came to the bubbly young blue-eyed boy. He immediately grew fond of the boy as his colony found a way into his steeled heart. And now, in desperate attempts, Arthur had once again closed any paths to his heart, in fear that he would be harmed again. He knew it was another selfish act, but he couldn't care anymore. Not if everyone have already stop caring about this cynical, sarcastic, cold, self-proclaimed gentleman.

Another gulp of the liquid, and he was on his way for his fifth cup. It wasn't that Arthur had a bad tolerance to alcohol, it was that most of the time he would downed quite an amount of drinks before anyone actually came to find him. Most of the time it was he who went to find someone, most would reject him, claiming they were busy. In the end, he would secretly find France, and as much as France was recognised as being a pervert, Arthur knew he was also a good person inside. He wouldn't admit it in the frog's face though.

Francis would often let the sorrowful man spill his feelings, before he brought him home again. Most times, he would just give up in looking for any companionship and just stay in his bedroom, just like right now.

Oh, how he had wished that someone would just come, and ask him if he was alright. Or maybe at least someone to accompany and listen to his words that he kept locked inside for years, maybe even decades. Or was it centuries? Arthur had stopped keeping track. He had a phone right there, yet he just didn't want to reach out for it. Oh, let the sorrow just slowly rot him away, until someone found him no longer there then maybe they would remember him for a little while. Then he'll just disappear in everyone's memories in the end.

A salty tear made its way down his cheeks. Then another. It was then Arthur found out that he was crying as he furiously wiped his tears away with his sleeves.

Dear god! He used to be the Great British Empire, for god's sake, not some useless, hopeless man. Yet they still continued to roll down his face anyways. Then Arthur stopped wiping at all, he let himself sunk into the abyss as he continued to cry.

It was soft sobbings at first, as he tried to contain his cries. It was not that he had any neighbours anyway, he had gotten himself a nice manor far away from the busy capital.

"W-Why? W-Why does everyone leave me? I'm already trying-g my b-best, s-so why do y-you a-all leave me a-anyways? Damn it! Why did you leave, you bloody git!"

He never felt this lonely before, even when he was the top of the world with no one there. Perhaps it was the victory that masked him away from the side effects. Arthur tried, he tried, to make friends but he would ended up forming a contract for political reasons or either get rejected.

He continued his depressing state, kept trying to comfort himself with songs he couldn't even recognise the tune anymore.

_"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came_  
_That voice which calls to me and speaks my name_  
_And do I dream again? For now I find_  
_Phantom of the opera is there inside my mind"_

He winced inwardly as he found his voice kept breaking and was rough from the sobs. The song only made it worse when he remembered singing it to the young brother he once had. He remembered rocking him to sleep as he sang this song as a lullaby. His vision blurred even more when there were tears threatening to come in waterfalls.

It was already night time when he had finally calm down his cryings. He wearily tucked himself into the bed, hiccupings filling the noiseless room. He wished it was done by someone who would cared for him, but there was no one here. Slowly but steadily, he had finally been lured into the dreamless sleeps that he hadn't had for a long time.

Knock. knock.

"Iggy? I know you're inside!" The American shouted from the front door. He had left one of his pillow and he was obsessed with the pillow, as it was very comfortable when he slept on it.

Without receiving any type of replies or even shouts, he pushed away the bushes to find a box lying there. He had of course knew where the spare key still hid, Arthur used to make sure that the young Alfred would not get stuck outside the manor when he's not around.

Click.

The door opened easily and he slipped inside quietly. The house wasn't in a mess, which Alfred was a bit more relieved. It meant that Arthur's house had not had a break in, though it was unsure if his friend, brother, was in danger or not.

He sped upstairs to check the rooms and he found a still body laying on the bed. With a closer look, Alfred sighed in relief. He had originally thought that England was sick or dea- No, he was a hero and a hero is not suppose to think negatively.

A slight movement from his original spot, Alfred then saw Arthur's tear-stricken face. He gasped in silence before frowning. He then got a wet towel and wiped it away. England was suppose to be strong, Arthur Kirkland wasn't suppose to cry, Alfred was suppose to be the hero for him. Arthur suddenly shifted in his bed, his blanket that draped over him dropped off.

Alfred F. Jones looked at it for a while, before picking it up and gently covered the blankets for the older man that he had often looked up to, and will forever respect. He smiled before switching off all the lights and leaving the house, forgetting his original reason of coming here.

After all, a night without his pillow doesn't matter.

"Good night, Iggy."


End file.
